


Surprise Caturday

by caliowl



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Awkward Romance, Comedy, Communication is hard, Emotionally-constipated old men, Especially when one of you is a cat, Ford gets turned into a cat, M/M, Magical Shenanigans, Post-Canon, Sibling Incest, Stan O War II shenanigans, Twincest, implied heavy drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27512158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caliowl/pseuds/caliowl
Summary: Never tick off a witch, especially after said witch has won a drinking contest against your twin. Now, a temporarily "cat-ified" Ford is Stan's problem.
Relationships: Ford Pines/Stan Pines
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	Surprise Caturday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nekoaimy on tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nekoaimy+on+tumblr).



> A belated birthday gift to Nekoaimy on tumblr! :D You're always creating such gorgeous fandom art for us to enjoy, and you're so kind and fun to talk to! I hope you had a very happy birthday this year! <3 ...And I hope you get a kick out of this goofy fic lol! :)
> 
> A big, hearty 'thank you!' to both of my betas, yehvaru (who came up with the title for this fic) and NightFoliage! You both were so kind to look this over for me and I really appreciate your help in making it the best it could be :D

_Ugh. What_ happened _last night?_

Stan returns to consciousness slowly, his head pounding and mouth bone-dry. He groans loudly in protest at the strong sunlight burning his unguarded eyes and rolls over on his side to escape the assault. The surface beneath him is uncomfortably hard, like he had spent last night on the floor, and he opens his eyes again to discover wood panels beneath him. 

Well, the floor theory checks out.

He groans again and scrubs his hands roughly over his eyes, in an effort to be a little more human and a little less of a living, breathing mess. What on Earth had he and Ford gotten up to last night? 

“Hey, you!”

He feels a couple harsh shoves from a foot to his shoulder that send him flat on his back again. Stan cracks an eye open to see a tall, grey-haired woman with what appears to be a blue, glass eye glaring down on him with a giant cat in her arms. 

“You’ve been here long enough! Get out of my house!”

Stan hauls himself into somewhat of a sitting position, rubbing at one sleep-filled eye, racking his brain for some shred of a memory that would explain who this woman was and why he woke up with one hell of a hangover in her house.

“...You drank me under the table last night.” 

“That I did. Under _my_ table, to be precise,” she affirms, more with impatience than with pride. “Now take your brother and get out!”

She drops the cat into his lap.

Stan just...stares. The cat dominates his lap, with long, grey fur blanketing his thighs and paws already going to his stomach to start kneading. 

While he watches his stomach get palpated by an overly large cat, he notices the six toes on each paw.

No. No, no, no, no.

Stan takes in a deep breath. “Ford?” He breathes.

The cat looks up at him with gorgeous green eyes. “Rrrt?” It trills in question.

Stan bows his head into his hands. _UGH._

“...What happened last night?”

\------

Turns out, what happened last night was that Stan got his ass taken to town by the grey haired _witch_ in a drinking competition that Stan demanded. They’d started out in a pub, where Stan was enjoying entertaining all the sailors with his and Ford’s traveling stories-

(“Tall tales,” the witch corrects.

“Lady, trust me on this.” Stan tells her. “There’s weirder shit than you know out there.”)

-when the witch (“Inez! And don’t you forget it, sailor!”) had made her appearance. 

The other patrons, who were locals and knew not to try their luck, had attempted to engage Stan with some stories of their own. But he’d been distracted by her drinking ability-

(“My _charm_.”

Stan snorts in good-natured amusement, scratching his ‘brother’ under the chin. “Perhaps.”)

-and had immediately called her over to enjoy some drinks and good stories. Inez had declined, but a drunken Stan had apparently taken the rejection as some sort of insult. 

“Wha’? You think yer _better’n_ me or somethin’?” He’d apparently yelled at her.

(Stan slaps a hand to his forehead and groans at the re-telling while Inez laughs uproariously.)

And so, the great battle between two alcoholic champions commenced! Inez and Stan had drink after drink, staring each other down as the night grew darker and the pub crowd thinned. Men and women would walk by and attempt to coax Stan into another, less dangerous activity, but he wasn’t having any of it. Eventually, they were kicked out of the pub and weaved their way over to Inez’s place.

(“What was Ford up to all that time?” Stan can’t help but ask, as he gazes into the green, slitted eyes staring up at him. “I can’t imagine him drinking along with us.”

“Good, because he didn’t,” Inez tells him. “Mostly he kept huffing and trying to get you to leave with him. Which you didn’t, because in your words, ‘Imma beat ‘er, Ford, jus’ you watch!’”

Stan reacts to her (poor) impression of him with an unimpressed stare, which makes Inez throw her head back and laugh again.)

Once they reached Inez’s little cottage, she and Stan continued their drinking competition, matching each other drink for drink at her kitchen table while Ford apparently rolled his eyes from where he’d placed himself on Inez’s couch. 

“You put up a good fight,” Inez says to Stan, as she sits back in her chair and crosses her arms. “But not good enough. You were out pretty quickly once we got back here. Then it was just me and,” she gestures towards the cat in Stan’s lap, “him.”

Stan frowns. “I’m still not fully convinced this is Ford.”

Inez raises an eyebrow. “The six toes not convince you?”

“Nah,” he replied easily. “I know there are some cats out there with six toes.” He actually knew that from Ford, who was excitedly telling Stan about how cats were considered lucky on seafaring vessels, especially six-toed ones. Stan remembers the conversation well, because Ford had flashed him one of his beaming smiles at the same time the ocean had reflected sunlight behind him, and Stan hadn’t been sure which sight had blindsided him more.

“Then what about this?” Inez asks, throwing a bag that had been resting beside her chair at Stan.

He catches it with a frown and looks inside. It appears to be a pile of folded clothes, with Ford’s signature tan trench coat folded neatly on top, his boots placed carefully on top of the coat, and his glasses stowed carefully inside one boot. Stan raises an eyebrow and looks up at Inez.

“The transformation doesn’t include the person’s clothes.” Inez supplies. “So unless your brother’s the type to run around blind and naked, I think it’s safe to say I’m telling the truth.”

“Well, you never know with Ford.” Stan jokes, and Inez rolls her eyes.

“Unfortunately, I can’t just ask him to respond to prove my point,” she says, “because he’s lost himself in the transformation.”

“Meaning…”

Inez rolls her eyes. “He’ll act just like a regular cat. He doesn’t remember ever being human. He’ll just be following his instincts.”

Stan’s brow furrows in confusion. “Can’t you just change him back?”

“Can I? Of course!” The witch replies. “But _will_ I? No, I don’t think I will.”

“Jeez,” Stan murmurs. “What in the hell did he _say_ to you?”

Inez glares at him. “Something rather rude about witchcraft. I won’t repeat it.”

Stan pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs roughly. “Goddamnit, Ford.” He looks up at Inez. “Look, I’m sorry my twin’s an ass, but he’s not a bad guy. Can’t you turn him back and I’ll get him to apologize?”

“No can do.”

Stan growls. “Why not?”

“Because,” Inez replies breezily, “you pissed me off, too.” 

“Oh come _on_!” Stan cries, throwing his arms up in frustration.

“Be thankful you’re getting away with such a light curse.” Inez says, as she idly studies her nails. “The spell only lasts 24 hours. He’ll be back to his old self in a day or so. And bear this in mind the next time you pass out in a stranger’s house and wake up later to vomit in one of their vases.”

Stan winces. Ok. That was understandable.

But.

“So I’m just supposed to trust that this cat is my brother, and spend the day taking care of this hairball?”

Inez smirks. “Essentially.

“Fantastic.”

She laughs. “Relax. It’s just a little prank. I was drunk, so there’s no guarantee it’ll even last the full day.” Inez gets up and stretches her arms high above her head. “Now, you’ve both worn out your welcome. Time to leave.” She heads for the door and turns back to address Stan. “If I messed it up and he doesn’t change back by tomorrow, just come back and see me. If I don’t see you again, I’ll just assume he changed back. Or you prefer him this way.” She winks.

Stan blows out a gusty sigh and stands up with the cat in his arms and the bag with his brother’s clothes dangling on his wrist. “Fine. I’ll look after this furball for the day. But you _will_ be seeing me again tomorrow if I find out this’s all been some kinda trick and you just needed a cat babysitter.

“Trust me,” Inez tells him as he leaves. “There’s no way I’d swap your mouthy brother for one of my precious kitties.”

“Duly noted,” Stan grumbles as he takes his leave. “Ford! Quit chewing on my jacket!”

\------

“I can’t believe this,” Stan mutters to himself as he wanders around looking for the little town’s main square, the bag of clothes and boots swinging with his steps. “Kicked out of a witch’s house, hungover, with my cat brother.” He looks down at the furry bundle in his arms, whose head is swivelling around, taking everything in greedily. “You could at least look a little sorry, you know, since this whole curse thing is your fault.” 

At the sound of his voice, the cat twists back around to look up at him, raising a paw to lightly bat at his chin. “Mrrt?”

“Ack!” He reels as far back from the touch as he can with the source cradled to his chest. “Quit it, Sixer!”

“Stan? Stan Pines?”

Stan whips around to locate the source of the call, and sees a group of older men waving at him from a couple of cafe tables. He recognizes a few of them from the pub last night.

“I thought that was you!” One of the men, Lucas, he remembers, calls out. “What’ve you got there?”

“Clothes,” Stan replies, lifting his right wrist with the bag hanging off it.

“No, no,” Lucas laughs. “What’s with...with ‘Sixer’? The cat!” He clarifies.

“Oh,” Stan replies dumbly, and looks down at his brother. “He’s, uh...he’s a new pet, yeah! Got ‘im for luck, you know...” He gestures vaguely with the arm carrying Ford’s clothes. “What with the boat ‘n all.”

The group all laughs and Lucas gestures for Stan to come over. “Let us see him! Oh, he’s a handsome one, isn’t he?” He asks, as Stan brings Ford over for closer inspection. 

Ford sniffs at Lucas’s fingers briefly before butting his head against them, searching for attention. Lucas grins wide and complies, rubbing Ford’s jaw and scratching him behind the ears.

“Look at that coloring around his eyes! It almost looks like he has little glasses on, doesn’t it?” Lucas asks, before getting surprised by Ford wriggling out of Stan’s arms to fall in his lap. “Whoa! He’s a friendly one!”

Stan frowns. He doesn’t remember Ford being so eager to jump to other people while he’s around, before…

“You’ve got yourself a beautiful Maine Coon, there, Mr. Pines.”

Stan quickly averts his gaze from the spectacle Ford’s making of himself (attention whore that he is), and locks eyes with another older gentleman in the group, whose name he can’t recall. “A beautiful what?”

The man chuckles. “A Maine Coon! It’s a breed of cat. That one, to be precise,” he says, taking another look at the animal in question. Stan looks too and notices Ford has accumulated a crowd of older men, all vying for his attention, petting and cooing over him. 

Unbelievable.

“They can get pretty big, but they’re invaluable hunters and extremely friendly. As we can see!” The gentleman continues, obviously tickled over how Ford’s woven his spell over the group. “You chose well for your companion. Or did your brother choose him?”

“My brother made it happen, for sure,” Stan says, glaring at the absolutely obscene picture Ford made, purring like a chainsaw and his eyes closed in bliss, surrounded by strange men. 

“So you named the cat after him?”

Stan thinks for a second, remembering how they’d overheard him call his brother by his nickname, and grins. “What can I say? I’m an agent of chaos. I just want to be able to yell ‘Sixer, stop licking yourself!’ and see what kind of reaction I get.”

His conversation partner throws his head back in laughter, startling the group from their reverie. They all finally start paying attention to Stan again, though Stan doesn’t overlook Ford settling more comfortably into Lucas’s lap. 

“So you got him for the boat? Aren’t you afraid the little guy might fall overboard?”

Stan shrugs. “He seems pretty smart. I’m sure he can take care of himself.”

“I hear you can buy little life preservers for them now!” Says a random man from the group.

“Get out of town!” Cries another. “For _cats_?”

“Of course! They have everything for pets these days. Why, I was just talking to my cousin the other day…”

Stan mentally checks out of the conversation, and side-eyes his brother sitting so casually in a stranger’s lap. When they were younger, Ford had always been more reserved when meeting strangers. Had his instincts changed over the years? He hadn’t thought so, since Ford still seemed to prefer Stan’s company over that of others. 

Whenever they stopped at a new port, Ford would stay with Stan, whether it was running errands or having a night on the town. He would certainly go off on his own from time to time, everybody needed time to themselves now and then, but he didn’t usually engage with the locals too much. He was usually very polite and perfunctory, and that was about it. Stan remembers teasing his brother over and over about his interpersonal skills (or lack thereof), and now here he is, just casually sitting on someone else’s lap? Just like that?

“-distracted.”

“Wha?” Stan asks, taken completely off guard.

Lucas laughs. “I said, ‘you seem distracted’. Jealous of me, because I have a special way with him?”

Stan bites his tongue to keep from saying something completely embarrassing, and scoffs. “Yeah, right, _that’s_ what I’m lookin’ at. Nah,” he says, twisting his wrist so the bag he’s carrying slides into his hand. “I’m just surprised he took a liking to you all so fast. He’s normally shyer.”

“As I said,” Lucas proclaims proudly, “I suppose I just have a way with him. Isn’t that right?” He coos down at Ford, scratching his chin which results in more heavy purring.

“Well, it’s been nice catching up, but we really should be heading back to the boat. C’mon, Sixer,” Stan says to the cat, turning around and taking a few steps.

He hears noises of surprise behind him and turns to see the group of men all goggling over Ford, who’d evidently leapt off Lucas’s lap to follow Stan (just as he’d hoped). 

“Well, I guess he knows who his master is!” Lucas laughs.

Stan suddenly has a vision of his twin kneeling on the floor before him, looking up at him beseechingly, and promptly chokes on air.

“That’s not-! Uh, I mean- Gotta go! See ya later!” He says, tripping over his words in his haste to get out of there. He whips around and heads in a direction he hopes leads to the square, feeling his cheeks and ears heat. 

‘Oh Moses, way to go, Stanley,’ he berates himself as he charges down the narrow walkways. ‘Way to be a creep.’ He honestly thought his strange attraction to his twin would take a hike while Ford was a cat, but it seems he’s out of luck. 

‘I have to remember that Ford will remember everything once he becomes human again,’ he thinks, and glances down at the animal following slightly behind him. ‘Otherwise I might let something slip and _then_ where would we be?’

As luck would have it, it turns out Stan chose the correct direction after all, as he and Ford pop out from narrow alleys into a bustling town square. It’s still morning, which means there are lots of small shops with merchants selling their wares as people walk from stall to stall to check out the goods. Stan happens to notice a lot of kids running around, some with dogs, and bends down to beckon to Stanford.

“C’mon, Sixer. Lemme carry ya through this part.”

His twin walks into his hold immediately with a hearty “Mrrrow!” and Stan carefully tucks him against his side. 

“No dogs are gonna get to you on my watch, buddy.” He can’t help but softly whisper down at his brother, and Ford leans up to press their foreheads together with a purr. Stan can feel his heart melt immediately, and briefly wonders how he’s supposed to keep his softer side a secret from his twin when he’s acting so affectionate.

They head off into the square together, and manage to dodge people and animals alike pretty deftly until about three-quarters of the way across. 

At that point, one of the rowdier dogs seems to notice Ford and charges. Stan can feel claws through his coat as his brother tenses and he holds him tighter as he swings the bag of clothes at the dog as a makeshift shield. “Hey! Hey! Get away from us, you little mutt!”

The dog dodges the wildly swinging bag and starts jumping up Stan to try to get at Ford and just as Stan starts contemplating using his legs on the creature, a couple of kids run over and grab hold of the dog’s collar. 

“Gigit! Down girl! Down!” The boy, who appears to be the older of the two, yells as he tries to get the dog under control.

“We’re sorry mister!” The little girl says, as she looks up at Stan with wide, hazel eyes. “Gigit didn’t mean anything nasty, we swear! She just wanted to play with your kitty!”

Stan looks between the two of them, and then down at ‘Gigit’, before he blows out a relieved sigh. “It’s ok, but my cat doesn’t wanna play with your dog. She scares him.” He looks over at Ford and pets him softly in an attempt to calm his nerves. The grip on his jacket lessens a little, but not much, as Ford stares avidly at Gigit.

“Your kitty is very pretty,” the little girl compliments as she watches Ford as avidly as he’s watching their dog. “Can I pet him?”

Stan wants to say ‘no’, but he’s always been a sucker for kids. And as she stares up at him pleadingly with large eyes, he already knows he’s caved.

“Sure,” he says. “As long as you hold tightly onto Gigit, there,” he adds, studying the little boy.

“I’ve got a good grip on her now, sir!” The boy says. “Lottie, go ahead. Can I pet him after she’s done if she holds onto Gigit?”

Stan bends down to Lottie’s height to let her pet Ford, who purrs happily at the attention. “Sure, kid. As long as you can handle her,” he says to Lottie, who looks up at him earnestly.

“I definitely can, sir! Please let Jack have a turn!”

“Ok, ok,” Stan says. “Jack can have a turn, too.”

“Yay!” Lottie beams at him, before scrambling over to Gigit and the boy, taking Gigit’s collar from his grasp. “Your turn, Jackie!”

The boy rolls his eyes at the affectation but shyly walks up to Stan and Ford. “He doesn’t bite, does he?”

“Who, this guy?” Stan asks, bouncing Ford in his hold a little. “Naw, he’s gentle as a lamb. Go ahead, give him a few pats. He likes to be scratched under his chin,” he adds in a conspiratorial whisper, and Jack grins before reaching for Ford.

The boy gives Ford a few tentative head pats and, after he gets a warm response from the animal, scratches under his chin a few times, resulting in loud, rumbling purrs.

“He’s so loud!” Jack says to Stan gleefully.

“Yeah, he’s a noisy one,” Stan agrees with a smile, remembering how Ford would nag at him in a well-meaning fashion, before he stands up. Oof. His knees aren’t what they used to be. “Well, we’re off.”

“Thanks for letting us pet your cat, mister!” Lottie says, and Jack adds an excited ‘thank you very much!’.

“Sure thing,” Stan tells them. “Just make sure to keep a closer eye on Gigit in the future, eh?”

The two children nod enthusiastically before running off into the crowds.

Stan’s about to head back in the direction he was previously going before the interruption, when he hears someone shouting at him.

“Hey! You there!”

He swivels his head, looking for the source, and notices a woman waving from her stall a few meters away. He heads over with a questioning look and she smiles at him.

“I just saw what you did over there for those kids, and I thought it was very sweet. I wanted to offer you a little something for your handsome little man, there,” she says, gesturing towards Ford. Stan raises an eyebrow and she giggles a little before holding up a hand. “Just a second!”

She turns away and Stan takes the time to look down at Sixer to see how he’s holding up. He’s relaxed completely since the kids gave him pets and no longer has a death grip on Stan’s jacket, to Stan’s relief. Those claws were no joke!

“Here.”

He looks up to see her presenting him with a fish. He looks around and takes in all the different fish she has for sale, before looking back down at the gift.

“That’s kind of you,” he tells her sincerely, “but I’m not sure Sixer here would eat it.”

“I dunno,” she says with a smirk. “He seems pretty interested to me!”

Stan looks down at Ford again and notices that his brother is staring at the fish with rapt attention. He sighs. Well, it was a hell of a lot better than cat food, for sure. He was pretty sure Ford would actually try to murder him if he found out Stan fed him _that_.

“Why not? Sure, I’ll take it. Thanks!”

“I hope he enjoys it!” The vendor tells him, as she carefully wraps the little fish. She finishes with a flourish and hands it to him with a smile, leaning in close. “You know, I get off of work in a few hours.”

Stan raises an eyebrow as he gives her a quick once over. Short, blonde hair, about medium height, slightly overweight, with sparkling blue eyes. She was definitely attractive, and younger than him to boot. Any man would be lucky to have her, he’s sure.

But he was interested in someone else, and no matter how unattainable he might be, Stan just couldn’t find it in him to move on just yet.

Even so, he enjoys flirting, and leans in close, too. “Is that so?”

She titters and says, “I was thinking, maybe later today if you’re not busy we could-”

“Mrowr!”

“Whoa!” Stan yelps, surprised by the paw that suddenly smacked him in the jaw. “Jeez, Sixer, what was that for?” He asks his brother, whose tail is also smacking him in the back with each swish. 

“Aww! Someone doesn’t like to share!” The vendor says. “That’s so cute!” She leans down to Ford’s level and asks, “are you afraid he won’t spend as much time with you anymore?”

Ford actually _hisses_ at her, which makes Stan’s eyebrows fly up in surprise. He hadn’t even done that when Gigit was bothering them. Was there something off about this woman?

“Sorry, sorry!” He says, taking a step away from the stall. “He’s never done that before.”

“It’s ok,” she tells him. “I probably scared him when I leaned in too close. I forget cats don’t really like that.” She hands him the wrapped fish. “Maybe another time?”

Stan takes it with a grateful smile. “Maybe. Thanks again for the gift!”

She waves after him as he goes, and as Stan slips the fish into the bag filled with clothes he bends down a little to try to look into Sixer’s face. The cat simply looks away, ears back and tail still swishing in irritation. 

“Jeez, you’re in a bad mood. What, was she some sort of horrifying creature and I just didn’t know it?” He sighs and readjusts his brother as he makes his way out of the town square and towards the docks. “Figures. I sure know how to pick ‘em, eh, Sixer?” He asks, giving his brother a few pats on the head as they head home.

\------

“Thank Moses!” Stan exclaims, as they finally reach the Stan O’War II. “Home sweet home!”

He gently sets Ford down on the deck as he fiddles with the lock on the door. “Feels like it took us for-fuckin’-ever but we finally made it back!” The door opens easily, and Ford darts in immediately. “Well,” Stan mutters, “after you.” 

He makes his way deeper inside the ship and throws Ford’s clothes on their shared bed in the bedroom to deal with later. Running a hand down his face, he heads back to the kitchenette, and stows the gifted fish in the refrigerator for later. Then he slumps into the booth nearby and drops his head in his hands with a heavy sigh. 

So. Ford’s a cat for the rest of the day (hopefully _just_ the rest of the day), and Stan gets to take care of him until then without betraying his less-than-brotherly feelings. 

Which, on the face of it, should be so easy as to not even be worth worrying about. Ford was a freakin’ _cat_ , for crying out loud! It’s not like Stan was attracted to animals or anything creepy like that. 

No. Just... _no_.

But...well, Stan had developed something of a bad habit since he’d been living on his own for so long. When bored, he tended to entertain himself by singing about anything he was doing or _thinking_ at the time.

Which means that, if he wasn’t careful, he might end up accidentally outing himself to his twin.

Stan rubs the back of his neck and blows out a lengthy sigh. Since he’d lived with the kids over the summer and Ford during their time at sea, he found himself talking more and singing less, since he had people he could talk to instead. And when he did sing, he tended to sing his favorite classics or new songs he discovered on the radio, as opposed to his actions or thoughts.

But now that Ford was essentially gone for the rest of the day, Stan would have to keep an eye on himself to make sure he didn’t accidentally give away too much.

As if his thoughts had summoned him, Ford hops up on the tabletop with an inquisitive, trilling “Mrrr?”. He walks with delicate steps over to Stan and sniffs at his hand a little before butting his head gently against it.

Despite himself, Stan cracks a smile. “Hey bro,” he coos, scratching his brother along his jaw and then under his chin. “You worried about me or somethin’? You shouldn’t be.” He tells him gently, using his other hand to pet the animal from head to tail. “I’m just thinkin’ about stuff, you know? Gettin’ old and lost in my own head without you here to bring me out of it.”

“Meow.”

“Yeah. You know, for someone who gets lost in his own head a lot, you’re good at keeping other people from thinking too much,” Stan teases. “Maybe ‘cause you’re always lightyears away and the rest of us can’t keep up with you, so we don’t even bother to try. We just let you do all the work.”

“Mrrrt. Mrrrow.”

“Yeah, you said it.” Stan tells him, with a sigh. “Sorry, bud. You know I love-uh, well…” He scratches the back of his head. “I-I mean...I...you know…” His cheeks warm and he looks away, unable to look into his brother’s questioning, green eyes. “Anyway, what I mean to say is, cat-you is great, but it’s not the same as _you_ -you...you know?”

“Mew?”

Stan groans and scrubs his hands over his eyes. “Nevermind. This is all me. Let’s just...I dunno, do...cat stuff? What do cats even do?”

“Mrrr.” Ford says, rubbing up against Stan’s arm and looking up at him expectantly.

“...I guess we’ll just...figure it out.”

\------

Stan had to admit. He might be a _bit_ of a cat person.

He was having kind of a nice time with cat-Ford. He tended to follow him everywhere and was pretty easy-going. When Stan would go topside and check to make sure the sails and lines were all set, Ford would follow and watch him work avidly, as if he was trying to learn by Stan’s example. When Stan would go inside and clean the kitchen, Ford would watch from his perch on the kitchen countertop and bat at the sponge as Stan wiped it down. When Stan would watch TV, Ford would climb into his lap and purr softly in contentment. 

Which was where Stan currently found himself. He and Ford didn’t watch television that often, despite being out at sea almost constantly. He supposed they were just usually so busy working on the Stan O’ War II and getting to re-learn each other and their habits, that television didn’t usually come to mind. 

But now that he was (effectively) without Ford’s company, Stan had holed up in their shared bedroom and propped himself up on the bed to watch some silly dramas. He was absent-mindedly petting Ford’s head, while he half-watched some debutante fight with her beau for the third time in black and white. 

“Man, can you believe this, Ford? Guy claims he loves her, but he keeps messing with her heart! She deserves so much better.”

“Mew.”

“Exactly! Like her best friend! Now _there’s_ someone who’s always been there for her and supported her!”

“Meow?”

“What, you don’t agree with me?” Stan scoffs. “Figures. You don’t have a romantic bone in your body, Sixer. Look,” he says, pointing to the TV. “See that right- Sixer!” He scolds the cat in his lap, who’s taken to rubbing his cheek against Stan’s extended pointer finger instead of following it with his gaze. “I’m trying to teach you something, ya big nerd! Pay attention.”

“Mrr.”

Stan sighs and gets more comfortable against the pillows supporting his back and keeping him upright. “Now I know where that whole ‘herding cats’ idiom comes from. You guys are just impossible! And it’s not like you were that easy to deal with _before_ you got yourself turned into a cat.”

“Mrow.”

“Oh, don’t give me attitude, Sixer, you know it’s true.”

“Mrak. Mrr.”

“Uh huh. Sure,” Stan says sarcastically. “Whatever you say, nerd.”

“Rrrt.”

Stan sighs and lightly scratches the animal behind the ears. “Anyway, what I was _trying_ to say, before I was horribly interrupted,” he playfully “glares” down at the cat in his lap, more focused on the pets than anything Stan’d have to say, “is that Janette, there, would be far better off with her best friend, Aaron, than she would with Richard.

“Now you’re probably thinking to yourself, ‘But Stan! My favorite and best twin in the whole, wide world! Whyever would you go against convention and choose the sidelined “friend” over the obvious romantic interest?’ Well, poindexter, it’s pretty obvious: the best friend loves her enough to support her and want her to reach her potential!”

“Mew.”

Stan scoffs. “You think you’d be more excited about that, considering you’re always working hard and trying to do your best. ‘Course, like I said earlier, you wouldn’t know if someone was flirting with your nerdy ass if they hit you over the head with it.”

“Meow?”

“Look, it’s like this - there are a lot of people out there who want you to give them whatever you can, as much as you can, ‘til you’ve got nothing left. And then they leave. That’s what happened with my ‘marriage’ (such as it was) and with other people I’ve been involved with.”

Ford sits up in his lap and turns his face up to look directly at him.

“What? I guess it’s a little pessimistic, but it’s also pretty realistic, too, I’ll have you know.”

“Mrrrt.” Ford trills, butting his head gently against Stan’s chin.

“I’m not sad about it. ...Well, maybe a little bummed,” Stan admits, as he scratches his brother under the chin. “But it is what it is. That’s why,” he says, taking Ford’s furry face in his hands to look him directly in the eyes, “you wanna find someone who wants the best for you.”

“Rrrt?”

“Find someone who’s your friend - your _best_ friend. Someone you can be yourself around, who gives back as often as you give, and takes as often as you take. _That’s_ what you want.”

“Mew,” Ford says, standing up to butt his head against Stan’s nose this time.

“Aargh! Sixer!” Stan exclaims, rubbing the excess fur from his nose. “I get it, I get it. Jeez, you’re never this affectionate as a human. What gives?”

“Mrow.” 

Stan sighs. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about romance. You already got all that with me! The-the friend stuff, I mean!” He catches his mistake and backtracks as if his life depended on it. “‘Cause we’re brothers - but also friends! And I lo-like you, alright, you know, and want you to do good, and-and stuff…” He trails off and buries his face into his hands with a forlorn groan. “Nevermind. You know what I mean.” 

He feels a soft paw bat lightly at his hands, and opens them to see curious green eyes looking up into his brown ones. “Mrr?”

“I’ll always be here for you.” It comes out easily, the truth. No matter what Ford looked like, he was always _Ford_. His twin, and his beloved. “No matter what. ‘Kay?”

“Rrrt,” Ford mutters, putting a paw on his chest and leaning up to sniff around his face.

“Hey! Give a guy a little breathing room, Sixer, jeez!”

“Meow!”

“I think it’s time for bed, anyways.” Stan drawls, as he turns off the TV with the remote and carefully sets it and his glasses down on the side table. “Ready to get some shut-eye, Sixer?”

“Purrr,” the furry creature at his side rumbles, blinking sleepily at Stan.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

With that, Stan turns out the light and rolls onto his back, raising his eyebrows as the pile of fluff follows after. Ford kneads at the blanket covering his chest before settling down to curl on top of Stan, pillowing his head against Stan’s right breast. 

Stan can feel his gaze grow soft watching him. “Goodnight Sixer,” he whispers, as he lightly pets Ford’s head. “I really, _really_ hope I’ll see you in the morning.”

There’s no reply, but the steady rumble from Ford’s chest provides a nice, light, ambient noise and Stan finds himself drifting off despite his worry.

\------

When Stan wakes, it’s daybreak. He blinks slowly up at the ceiling a few times, and considers rolling over to go back to sleep-

“Stan? Are you awa-?”

“SIXER!” 

He bolts upright-

-and sends his twin (his _human_ twin!) to the side in his excitement.

“Ack! Stanley-!”

But he doesn’t hear whatever it is Ford has to complain about this time, because he effectively wraps himself around his twin and sends them both on their sides back onto the bed.

“You’re back! You’re _you_ again!”

He hears a deep chuckle and feels the sound ripple through the firm, _human_ chest he’s got his head resting against. Arms wrap around him in return and he feels a wide, six-fingered hand gently cup the back of his head.

“I am! Thank goodness,” Ford says. “I felt _this close_ to eating cat food. My reputation would’ve never survived it.”

Stan chuckles and squeezes Ford closer. “I actually thought about feeding you cat food-”

“I _knew_ it!”

“-but I knew you’d never forgive me.” He laughs. “But you _did_ lick yourself-”

Ford groans and buries his face in Stan’s hair. “ _Please_ , don’t remind me! I’m embarrassed enough as it is, Stanley!”

“Have you brushed your teeth yet?”

“Nooooo! Shut up!”

Stan cackles and pulls back to look his brother in the eyes. In his beautiful, warm, _brown_ eyes. “I think this calls for celebratory Stancakes! Lemme just-”

“Actually,” Ford tightens his grip on him, and Stan goes still. “I wanted to- I mean, you brought up something last night that I wanted to talk about.”

Stan stiffens. Did he say something stupid after all? He tried to be so careful!

“About-about the movie? When you were talking about which man would be better suited for-for that...woman.”

“Janette,” Stan can’t help but correct.

“Right,” Ford says, with an eye roll. “Her. Anyway, you were talking about friends and being supportive and I just wanted you to know…” He trails off, and his brows come together in that way when he’s thinking hard about something. Stan feels like he’s sweating bullets. 

“...I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate you, and how supportive _you_ are,” Ford admits, and swallows hard before chuckling a little. “Not many people would’ve been so accommodating to take care of me when I turned into a cat.”

Stan relaxes. _This_ was what his brother was so nervous about? Silly, emotionally-constipated nerd. “Of course, Sixer. Hey, you had to deal with me getting drunk and passing out at a stranger’s place.”

Ford’s face quickly sours. “Ugh. Don’t remind me. I would say I can’t believe you, but unfortunately I really can.”

Stan snickers. “Eh, you love me, anway.”

Suddenly the room goes quiet and the air grows thick with tension. Stan’s accidentally stepped on a landmine somehow, and when he looks at his brother’s face, it’s the picture of fear.

“I-I mean-”

“Stanley-”

“I should go-” Stan says and sits up.

“Wait!” 

He feels a strong hand grip his wrist gently, but firmly, and stops moving, though he doesn’t have the balls to turn around.

“That’s-that’s the other thing I wanted to discuss-”

“Do we have to?” Stan interrupts him. 

“...I _want_ to.”

Stan swallows nervously.

“...It’s ok if you don’t want to look at me. Actually, that might make this easier.”

‘Oh Moses,’ was all Stan could think. What was Ford going to say? Was he ready to hear whatever it was? Stan squeezes his eyes shut in preparation.

“I know how this is going to sound...but I really, _really_ hope you meant what you said yesterday. About being there no matter what.” Ford says. “Because what I have to tell you is...it’s something incredibly controversial, but very important.” He lightly squeezes Stan’s wrist.

“Stanley...I-I’m afraid I’m in love with you.”

The room falls silent again, except for a high-pitched ringing. Stan is somewhat aware of it, and finds himself numbly trying to figure out just _what_ is making that noise. When it hits him. It’s in his head. He’s in shock.

Because Ford just told him he _loves_ him.

No. Stanley blinks, and starts to become aware of sounds and vague talking going on behind him. Ford said he was _afraid_ he loved him.

Afraid. Like he was announcing something he was sorry for.

‘...The _fuck_?’

He whirls around and whatever Ford was doing before, he froze in place once Stan’s eyes lock onto his own. “What do you mean?”

Ford audibly gulps. “Stanley, I’m sorry-”

“No! Stop that! Don’t apologize! What do you _mean_ , ‘I’m afraid I love you’?”

“I’m afraid I’m _in love_ with you-”

“Stanford. Now’s not the time.” Stan warns, glaring at his twin while his hands curl into fists at his side.

Ford’s wide eyes shoot down to his hands and then back up in an instant. “I-I meant I’m sorry!”

“Sorry for _what_ exactly?”

“I’m sorry for pushing my feelings onto you! I know they’re taboo in this dimension-”

“Ok, stop.” Stan holds up a commanding hand, and Ford’s mouth snaps shut immediately. “You’re sorry for _that_ , but not for...for actually loving me, right?”

Ford’s eyes soften immediately. “No, Stanley. I would never be sorry for that. Not in a million years. I’m terribly, deeply in love with you. I have been for longer than I was ready to admit, I think.”

“Good.” Stanley tells him. “That’s good. Because I-I, you know, I feel...the same.” He looks away awkwardly, a hand absently rubbing the back of his neck.

After a few seconds of silence, he looks up to see Ford in tears.

“Whoa! Hey! What’s with the tears, bro? I said I love you too! Isn’t that a good thing?”

Ford sobs out a laugh, and scrubs some of the tears out of his eyes. “It’s a _great_ thing. Something I never thought would happen…”

Stan blinks in surprise and reaches out to him. “Me neither,” he admits, as he settles a hand lightly and awkwardly on his twin’s shoulders. 

Ford laughs wetly. “Aren’t we a pair? Easier to express ourselves when one of us is a _cat_ than when we’re both human.”

Stan has to laugh too. “We’re just a couple of two emotionally-constipated, old guys in love, I guess.”

“Guess so.”

Stan bites his lip as he looks over his twin, who’s taken to using the bedsheet to dry his tears.

Fuck it.

“C’mere, Sixer,” he says, opening his arms. “Wanna hold you when you’re _not_ sporting a tail and whiskers.”

Ford laughs and practically falls into his arms, wrapping himself tightly around Stan who squeezes him tightly in return.

“I love you, Stanley. So much,” he whispers into Stan’s shoulder.

“Me too, Sixer.” Stan murmurs back, pressing a kiss into his twin’s hair. Then to his temple. Then his cheek. 

Ford tips his head up and Stan meets him halfway for a kiss.

Ford kind of whimpers and Stan cups his face in his hands, kissing him as passionately as he can. Tasting him and feeling him and _consuming_ him. Taking in everything. Taking in _Ford_. Kissing him and kissing him, until he felt himself running out of breath, and then kissing him some more.

Ford turns away and takes in a deep breath, laughing breathlessly as Stan reaches for him again. “Don’t you need to breathe?”

“Nope. Just need you.”

“I think you need to breathe a little,” Ford points out, between kisses. 

“Overrated,” Stan grunts, and delights in Ford’s deep laughter, taking the opportunity to kiss the column of his throat as he tips his head back.

“And to think,” Ford chuckles, “all this, because I got turned into a cat!”

“I dunno...are we _sure_ you’ve completely changed back?” Stan asks, pulling back the covers to reveal his twin’s naked form. “I might need to investigate a little. You know,” he winks up at Ford as he slides down Ford’s body, “to make sure.”

“Mee- _yow_!”


End file.
